


In Memory

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anniversary, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loving Marriage, Memorials, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: When the Doctor gives Bill a day off, she wonders why. When even Nardole won't tell her, she decides she has to find out what they're hiding. But some things are meant to be private. Some stories hurt too much to share. And finding the truth might tell her more than she wants to know.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	In Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Doctor Who.

**In Memory**

“You don’t need to come for tutoring tomorrow.”

The words come out of the blue, completely unexpected. “Say what?”

The Doctor gives her a look. “You don’t have to come here tomorrow. Go home early. See a film, go on a date, get drunk...whatever you young people do. I’m giving you a day off.” He waves a hand. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just a bit...unexpected.” And it is. She smells a mystery. “Any special occasion?”

“Just thought you might like one. You’re a decent student, I suppose, you deserve a holiday.” And she can appreciate that. It’s just that his rewards tend to involve trips in the TARDIS to places she chooses, or a reprieve from his intense essay assignments, not random days off. She can tell, from his tone and his expression, that he’s giving her the run-around. But she can also tell that he’s not going to give her a straight answer, no matter how she asks.

So she shrugs and offers him a smile that’s maybe 90% real. “Okay. Thanks. See you later then.” And she shoulders her pack and leaves him in his office.

As soon as she’s out of sight, she does an about face and goes looking for Nardole. He’s probably tidying up the lecture hall, and chances are, he’ll know what’s going on.

She finds Nardole exactly where she expects him to be. “Oi, Nardole. Got a mo?”

He looks up. “Bill. What is it?”

“Was hoping you could answer a question for me.” Approached properly, Nardole will answer just about anything. “I mean, it was something I figured you’d know.”

Nardole straightens, trying to look wise and important. He almost succeeds, probably would if she didn’t know the Doctor. “Of course.”

“The Doctor gave me tomorrow off. Was wondering if you knew why he’d do that. I mean, it’s not a holiday, far as I know. I was wondering if it was some sort of alien Time Lord thing, or something.” She keeps her tone casual.

“Tomorrow...tomorrow...” She can see Nardole turning things over in his head.

She can also see the moment he makes the connection, because his face goes solemn and his eyes go serious, and just a bit sad. Then he closes down, getting as close to inscrutable as he ever does. “ ‘Fraid I can’t help you.”

“Oh, come on. You know, I know you do.” She tries cajoling. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’m just curious. I won’t breathe a word, if it’s some big secret or something.”

To her frustration, Nardole only shakes his head. “Not my place to say.” He gives her a look. “It’s the Doctor’s private business, that. Best you leave it alone.”

“Is it something to do with that vault?” The only other secret he’s really kept from her, that she knows of at least.

“Not my place to say. Enjoy your day off.” And with that, Nardole turns away and the conversation is over.

Now she’s not just curious, she’s irritated. Private business, huh? He knows she’s a lesbian, and she told him about her mum, and her issues with her foster mum. She’s heard stories about his companions, she knows he has two hearts and plays guitar and he’s an alien, and why is this so different?

She decides, later that night, that she’s going to find out.

The next day she works, then bides her time until it’s half-past six. She figures by then both the Doctor and Nardole will have assumed she’s not coming. They won’t expect her, which means she might have a shot at sorting out this mystery.

She’s pretty stealthy when she sneaks into the Doctor’s office, but it turns out to be pointless. The Doctor isn’t there. She’s debating the merits of checking the vault, or hunting in his usual haunts when she sees the cracked open door of the TARDIS.

She wonders if that’s the secret. If he’s doing some maintenance and doesn’t want her to see him mucking about like a common mechanic. If so, it’s a pretty poor reason. Not like she’ll think less of him, and she’d like learning more about the TARDIS and what makes her go.

She edges in, looking about. No immediate sign of him, and there should be if he’s doing repairs, shouldn’t there? She’s never seen a mechanic or repairman yet who didn’t leave tools in plain view, never mind the fact that a lot of them swear like sailors when they work. Wrestling with parts and uncooperative machines seems to do that to people.

She prowls the deck, and it’s only on her second circuit that she notices some of his liquor is missing. The strong stuff too.

So he’s getting drunk somewhere. At least, that’s a good bet, given the missing alcohol. She can’t picture him leaving the TARDIS, unless he went to the vault. But anyway, what would be so bad about getting drunk that he’d hide it? Not like she hasn’t seen people messed up before. And yeah, he is her teacher, but it’s not like she’ll respect him any less. Unless he’s the type to be a handsy drunk, but she can deal with that if he is. And odds are, if he’s drunk enough to try anything, he’s also going to be drunk enough to forget it, and good for both of them. She’ll know to leave him be next time. And if he remembers, maybe he’ll be embarrassed enough to control himself next time, or at least tell her he’s getting plastered so she’s not tempted to sneak up on him again.

She makes her way further into the TARDIS, looking for him, but also exploring. She’s wandered the ship several times, but it’s the type of place where you never really feel like you’ve seen it all. And knowing the TARDIS, she probably hasn’t.

Sure enough, she goes down a hall and finds a door she’s sure she doesn’t remember. Nice door. So she takes the hint and pushes it open, and finds herself in a library.

A library. She’s seen book shelves and chalk-boards all over the ship, but an honest to god ‘put the university to shame’ library? That’s new. She walks forward.

Lots of shelves, and she could easily explore in here for a week and still not be satisfied, but she’s on a mission, and it’s a good bet that the Doctor’s here, if the TARDIS put this room in her path.

She finds him in the back, at a small table. Sure enough, the booze is open, and a glass is sitting half-full next to him. From the looks of the bottle, not his first glass. He’s sitting, and the lines of his face are drawn into a sad expression. Pained. She follows his gaze.

It’s a holographic projection, but miles better than anyone on earth could do. A woman, tallish, honey-toned skin. Hair as curly as Bill’s own, brown with deep blondish streaks and warm, playful eyes. There’s a quirk of her lips and a tilt of her head and hips that make her think this woman is has a playful and mischievous nature, but also a warmth and wisdom that makes her think she’d be a kind and understanding friend. And a good mother.

She’s also very recognizable, and she finds herself speaking before she can stop herself. “Oi, that’s the woman from the photo on your desk, isn’t it?”

The Doctor whips around. “Bill...”

And it’s then that she sees. Tear tracks on his face, glittering in the light of the hologram. And that’s when she realizes she’s walked in on something. Something very private and very painful.

All of a sudden, her reasons and excuses don’t seem so important, or so valid, anymore. She swallows as he turns away and tries to get himself under control, guilt welling up at the effort he’s making and the cost of it, written on his face. “I was...I was worried. You don’t do days off, really. Thought it might be something wrong.” It sounds hollow, even to her.

“Well, now you know. So kindly show yourself out.” The words are rough with whatever pain he’s experiencing, overlaid with shame that she can see him like this, and a thread of anger at her intrusion.

She should leave. She really should, and she knows that. But she can’t. Not seeing him like that. She takes a hesitant step forward, looking at the hologram. “Who is she?”

He seems to realize that she’s not leaving, and his face falls. He slumps at his table, eyes flickering to the image again. “Her name is River Song.”

“Good friend?” She thinks it was more than that, but she wants to give him some room to evade, if he needs it.

“My wife.”

And now she feels awful. But she still can’t leave. She wants to understand. “Yeah? Must be something special then.”

“She was.” The words crack.

She turns to face him then, seeing the pain on his face. She moves to sit beside him, to touch his hand gently, trying awkwardly to offer a comfort she’s not sure he’ll accept. “She died?”

“Yes.” He swallows and twists his face away, but he doesn’t pull his hand away and he doesn’t dismiss her, and she takes that as permission of a sort.

“Tell me about her. I mean, did you love her, or was it...”

“It was a marriage of necessity. But I did love her. And she me.” His voice is soft and raw.

“Yeah? Tell me about it?” She makes it a request, but she learned a long time ago that sometimes people in pain just need to talk, to be encouraged. To have someone listen.

Maybe it’s because he’s drunk, but he does start speaking.

“Her parents were good friends of mine. Amelia and Rory. Traveled with me for years. I attended their wedding. River was conceived aboard the TARDIS, during one of our trips. It gave her some of the powers of a Time Lord, control over the vortex and things like that. Limited regeneration.”

That sounds...convoluted. And a little weird. Really, it sounds like she was young enough to be his daughter, and he married her? Cradle robbing? Doesn’t seem like him. But then, the Doctor is a strange man, and he did say it was a marriage of necessity. And if she’s patient, she might get the rest of the story too. So she waits.

He keeps talking, like he can’t stop. “Amy, her mother, was kidnapped by the Silence just before River was born.”

“The Silence?”

He waves the question away. “Difficult to explain. But they wanted me. Wanted a person who could kill me. So they took Amy, then her daughter. Melody Pond, renamed River Song by a sympathetic person who wanted to give Amy something, but didn’t have a word for Pond. Her home-world only had rivers. So...”

“River Song. Okay. So...what happened?” She knows if she lets him stop, if she gives him time to realize what he’s doing, what he’s saying, that she’ll probably never hear the rest of the story. And she wants to know. Strange and awful as this is, she wants to know, and she wants to help, if she can.

“River was taken. Raised to kill me. Raised as a Time Lord, but a rogue one. Rory and I rescued Amy, tried to rescue her, but it wasn’t possible. Fixed points in time. Rules. Finally came down to a split in the time vortex. One path, River kills me, the universe...well, you don’t want to know and it didn’t happen. One path, she married me. We took that one.”

“That’s good.” She pauses. “But...what about the Silence? They just let you do that?”

“Of course not. Couldn’t do it that way anyway. There was a fixed point where Rory and Amelia saw me ‘die’. Wasn’t me, in the end. A special nano-force invention that used my DNA and my likeness to present a reasonable fake. I erased my name, my existence, from the Silence, hid my identity. River was the only one after that who could know my true name, the name I was born with. No one else.” He shakes his head, pain in his eyes.

“Wow. Sounds like a lot of work.” Though it does explain why he goes by ‘The Doctor’. If he’s trying to keep his real name hidden, that does make sense. She wonders how he picked that particular name, then decides it isn’t important.

She thinks, then follows a different line of thought. “So...you and River, you just you went adventuring around the universe?”

“No. We went our separate ways. We had to. Our timelines, they didn’t match.”

Now this she doesn’t understand. “What?”

“Our timelines, they didn’t match. Her timeline started in my last regeneration, for her. But for me, I met her two regeneration cycles ago. Before I knew her mother, before she had a chance to be born. It was always like that. Meeting at different points in each others lives, different events. I gave her a journal at our wedding, because she told me I gave it to her at our first meeting, in my time line. Our last meeting in hers.”

Pain crumples his expression, pain and grief. He closes his eyes and visibly fights back the tears that want to trace new tracks down his cheeks.

It all sounds twisted up, confusing, and she knows it’ll give her a headache if she thinks about it too long. “But you still loved her, yeah?”

“Yes. My River Song. She called me her madman with a box. Like her mother, who called me her Raggedy Man. She’d turn up in my life, I’d turn up in hers. Always at different points in our own times, always remembering different things. Different events. Different people. She married again, but she was always true to me. Became a professor of history, an archaeologist instead of an assassin. And we’d have an adventure, and then our paths would divide again, because of her knowledge or mine.”

“And they never...I mean, you never just met and spent time together?” It sounds like a strange relationship to her, but what does she know.

“Not until the end. For her.” His face twists in anguish, and a tear breaks free. He jerks a hand to swipe it away, but she stops him. She doesn’t want him to be ashamed of these tears, any more than she allowed herself to be ashamed of weeping for her mum as she looked through the photos he’d left for her. So she stops him, and brushes the falling droplet away herself, a silent acknowledgment of his pain, and an offering of comfort.

“What happened?” She wants to know if they ever got to build a life together. She wants to know how someone who could love him and fight him and have River’s smile could die. She wants to know...well, she’ll settle for whatever he’ll tell her.

“There was a library. The Library. A planet sized library. It had been invaded by Vashta Nerada. Shadow creatures, like piranhas. Only of air. Donna and I were investigating, and we met River and her team. But it was before her time, before she was born. I didn’t know her. She had to...she had to tell that she knew my name. She whispered it in my ear. She wouldn’t tell me anything else though. After...” His voice cracks, more tears flowing down his cheeks. “We were trying to repair the library core, save the people inside, people who’d been rescued by the young woman who powered the core. They’d been turned into data and saved. Translated, if you will. I was going to insert my mind into the core, release the people, reset the data banks. I made a deal, a period of time where the Vastha Nerada would let everyone leave. But she...”

She has a terrible feeling she knows what he’s about to say, and he doesn’t disappoint. “She took my place. Chained me to a pipe and performed the procedure herself. We both knew it would be fatal. But she knew that her past was my future, so she saved me. All I could do was upload her memory ghost into the core, and finish repairing the data banks, stabilizing the network. I couldn’t save her.” And his voice breaks.

She had a feeling that’s what happened. She wishes she’d been wrong. She almost wishes she’d listened and taken the day to hit the pub or do laundry or...well, something else. Anything else. But at the same time...she’s not sorry. Whatever else this story holds, whatever horrors or wonders it might involve, it’s clearly left a mark. And a grieving man, in pain and in need of someone to lean on, even if only for a moment. If only for a day, and even if they never speak of it again.

“I’m sorry.” They’re inadequate words, and she knows it. But what else can she say? She knows from personal experience that empty platitudes offer no comfort. She could ask more questions, but it feels like she would be invading his privacy even more than she already has. Worse, she thinks it would only torment him. And she’s not keen on causing him more pain.

In the end, she sits in silence, holding his hand and watching the hologram of a beautiful woman with a kind and loving smile. She lets him cry and pretends she’s not paying attention, but when he goes to refill his now-empty glass, she stops him. “Think you’ve had enough.”

He looks like he might argue, but she holds his gaze and keeps going. “Besides, isn’t really helping, is it? Won’t make you forget, won’t make it hurt less in the end.”

That defeats him, and he lets the glass go, looking lost and worn and older than he ever really has before, even with his silver hair and lined face.

She caps the bottle, then stands and lifts him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed, yeah? Things will look better after a night of sleep.” Maybe. They don’t always, but at least he’ll have time to sober up (she hopes) and get his armor back on. Get his walls back up. She’s always wanted to know more about him, but not if the cost is seeing him this raw and vulnerable and...well, broken. It’s not a word she wants to associate with him, but it’s still true.

He doesn’t argue, and that tells her a lot about how much he’s hurting, and how much of a toll his grief has taken.

She lets the TARDIS guide her to a bedroom, which might be his and might not, what does she know? But it’s a bed, and it looks comfortable enough. She helps him out of some of his clothes, down to t-shirt and trousers and socks, then tips him into bed and covers him with a blanket. “You rest now.”

He doesn’t look like he will, so she steps back, steps to the door, and begins to hum an old lullaby she heard as a kid. Luck is with her, and the song and the alcohol and his general exhaustion knock him out within minutes.

She ducks out, shuts the door, then heads for the door of the TARDIS, wondering if he’ll remember her there. Or if she wants him to.

Nardole is waiting in the office, fidgeting nervously. He looks up when she emerges. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs, closes the door carefully behind her.

Nardole glances at the door, worry in his face. Which means he probably knows exactly what the Doctor has been doing. “I left him asleep. Any luck, he’ll stay that way until the stuff he drank wears off.”

Relief in Nardole’s eyes, and he exhales. “That’s good. Last time he drank himself sick, he did. Two days I was busy, making sure he didn’t kill himself with that stuff.”

Silence falls, and in that silence, she finds the courage to ask a question. “Did you know her? His wife I mean.”

“Knew her before I knew him. I worked for her. Before I got turned into a...well, doesn’t matter now. Doctor fixed me, more or less. But yes, I did know her.”

“What was she like?”

“Kind. Ruthless. Strong. Loving. Passionate, very passionate. Brilliant too. Smarter woman you never did see. She was a good match for him. And he for her. She lived life, she did, always to the fullest. Always an adventure with her, but she was a good lady. Good to me, good to my friends. That’s why I agreed to look after her final wishes, you know. Look after him after she was gone.”

“That’s why you’re with him.” She’s always wondered. They sort of seem like friends sometimes, but most often, Nardole seems like he’s the Doctor’s minder or something.

“Yeah. Though make no mistake, he’s worth being with, he is, even if he is a bit...” He trails off and makes an expression that says everything his voice doesn’t.

“Yeah.” She looks back at the TARDIS. “Were you there, when she...”

“When she died? No. She sent me somewhere else, said I wasn’t to come after her. Something about a fixed point, she said. Integrity of the timelines and all that. I was there for a bit of their honeymoon though. Popped in with things for them from time to time.”

“Honeymoon?”

“Yeah. On Darillium it was. One night, but a night on Darillium lasts 24 of your years. And it was a good night for both of them!” There’s laughter in his eyes.

“So...they did get 24 years together?” That’s a comforting thought. They had time. It makes the whole thing seem a little less...tragic.

“Yes they did. Before she went to that Library.” He flinches then, looking cagey.

She decides to put him out of his misery. “Yeah, he told me about that. Sounds...well, all sounds bit messed up to me.”

Nardole relaxes. “Seemed that way to me too. But I read Miss River’s diary, you know. She asked me to, so I’d know how to keep him out of trouble. And it...she had a way of making sense of it, and of him, even with the awful mess their timelines were in.”

“Sounds useful.” She wishes she could read that. But she knows better than to ask.

Somehow though, Nardole guesses. He eyes her for a moment, then wanders over to his own desk, which he seems to barely use and yet manages to clutter up even worse than the Doctor does his. He digs around in a drawer, then produces a small blue book.

A small blue book that looks like a TARDIS made of leather. The pages are fat and worn and clearly marked in. Nardole holds it for a moment, then offers it to her. “Maybe, if you’re really interested in what she was like, you’d like to read for yourself.”

“Can I?” She wants to, but at the same time…

“I can’t really help him.” Nardole’s eyes are sad as they flick towards the TARDIS. “The Doctor, he’s a bit...well, it takes a special person to be chosen by him. And I don’t mind working for him, but it isn’t the same thing, even if I was picked by her. But him...he picked you, and maybe you’ll have better luck than I have, helping him.”

She wonders if Nardole’s ever had the thought that flashes through her mind. That maybe he can’t help because he is River’s former employee, because he’s a too-vivid reminder of a painful past. She suspects he has, from the grief that lingers in his eyes.

She takes the journal with the reverence she’d reserve for priceless artifacts and maybe newborn babies, gentle and careful. “He won’t mind?”

“Oh, he will, most likely. But it’ll take a while before he realizes that’s gone, it will. And besides...she might have left it to him, but it’s still Miss River’s journal. And I don’t think she’d mind.”

She feels touched by the vote of confidence. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be really careful with it.”

“See that you are. And I’d like it back soon, if you please.”

“Of course.” She nods, then decides it’s time for her to get going. Nardole obviously feels the same, because he gives her an abrupt nod and vanishes into the TARDIS.

The journal in her pocket is a heavy weight all the way home, and her mind is burning with questions. It’s all she can do to answer her foster mum’s questions, grab a bite of supper and help with the dishes before she escapes upstairs.

She shuts the door and locks it, a hard-won signal for privacy that she finally gained her senior year of secondary, then plops on her bed and tugs the journal free with careful hands. She sits for a long moment, caressing the worn blue leather, breathing in the scent of it, then opens the book to the first page with hands that feel clumsy and awkward and breath that seems curiously hard to come by.

She reads the entire night. Stories of Donna Noble and Amelia Pond and Clara Oswald and several others. The Doctor’s Companions. She reads about a mother’s lullaby, and the stories of the Centurion, the Boy and the Girl Who Waited. About growing up with the Silence and growing up in the vortex, and growing up as Mels, the childhood friend of the very people who would eventually give birth to River Song. She reads about the Doctor, when he was an awkward, gawky young-looking man, when River fell in love with him.

She reads about a wedding, and a battle to protect a man who loved the universe and a name that River doesn’t write down because it’s a secret too precious to be shared. Too wonderful and too terrible.

She reads about a prison, and about a university, about daring escapes and earning a degree and becoming Doctor Song.

She reads about forests and ruins and something called Weeping Angels. About Rory and Amelia. About people with different names. Vastra and Jenny and Strax and others. The Doctor’s friends, the Doctor’s allies.

She reads about Daleks and Cybermen and more. The Doctor’s enemies. About UNIT, the branch of Earth Military that she never knew existed, which apparently does exist to call upon the Doctor and deal with alien or temporal threats, with his help, or as his help, she’s not sure which.

She reads about the Master, the apparent other last Time Lord, and also apparent enemy of the Doctor.

She reads about adventures. With and without him. About loves and tragedies and comedies.

She reads about Darillium, about 24 years spent together, and two people who knew their time was ending, that one would die in the past, and the other would mourn in the future.

She reads of River’s feelings and thoughts about the Doctor, all the advice she tried to write, for him and for Nardole and for anyone else who might read the journal after she was gone. All the loving memories and the kind words and the admonitions.

She cries, for a man she’s coming to know better than she ever thought possible, and for a woman she’ll never meet, and yet knows more about than she knows about her own mother.

She weeps for what was lost, when River died in the Library, for what was broken, and what was left behind.

She reads until she runs out of pages, until there are no more words left. And then she puts the book aside and curls up in her bed, watching the dawn shine into her room.

Dawn. It has a new meaning now, now that she’s read the words of a woman who left the love of her life at dawn on a world far away, knowing that the next time she saw him, he wouldn’t know her, and she would die. Now that she can imagine the eyes of a man who let his love, his wife for who knows how long, leave, knowing he’d never see her again, that she was going to die.

She’s always thought of dawn as a beginning, a new day, full of possibility. She’s never imagined one could be so full of endings.

She’ll make it something full of hope for him again. Somehow. She’ll do it, find a way to bring the light back to his eyes, and the excitement back to his face. The way she did when she refused to lose her memories and convinced him to travel space and time with him.

She can’t replace what he’s lost, and she’s not going to try. He’d likely hate her for it if she did. But she’ll give him something new, and maybe, just maybe, she can make the burden of his loss a little easier to bear.

For the Doctor. And for River Song.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea that popped into my head and wanted to be written.


End file.
